Page 209 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass

Chapter Thirty-Six

Nate slowed as he approached Carter Island Realty and Rentals and was surprised to see Mini’s car parked in her usual spot so early on a Sunday morning. He’d been hoping to grab what he needed without having to offer up any explanations—or tell one of his favorite people a whopping lie. Sighing, he pulled the Tahoe in next to her spiffy black Mercedes and sat where he was for a second before he shut off the engine and started inside. After his conversation with Leah and Lily last night, he’d been chomping at the bit to get out to the abandoned cabin for another look around. He’d been right behind Callie after they ate their breakfast and she headed off to work. Shawn had things covered over at the station until noon—plenty of time for Nate to see what was what out in the woods without anyone being the wiser. He opened the door to a blast of heat and huffed out a quiet chuckle as he unzipped his winter jacket and pulled off his hat, sliding his fingers through his hair.

“Hello?” Mini stepped from her office in one of her familiar slacks and sweater outfits. “Well, Nathan, what a surprise.”

He smiled. “It’s pretty cold this morning. I wasn’t expecting you to be here. I figured you’d be at home sitting by the fire.”

“That was the plan, but real estate waits for no one. I’ve been helping James and Terry with a property they’ve had their eye on over on the mainland. They made their offer yesterday afternoon and the seller’s hot to trot to move things along.”

“Your work is never done.”

“I’m talking to a man who can relate,” she said with a wink.

He nodded.

She leaned against the doorframe. “Matthew and I had a lovely time last night. Callie’s talents are mind-boggling.”

“She amazes me every day.”

Mini grinned. “What can I do for you, sweetie?”

“I want to grab the key for Mom and Dad’s rental property.” He started toward the locked closet where he knew the keys were kept before Mini could offer to get them for him. “The heating’s iffy out there. Dad wanted me to make sure the pipes are okay.”

“Honey, I can send Christopher over tomorrow. You know he checks on everyone’s places for me.”

“That’s okay.” He unlocked the door. “I figure I’ll check things out real quick and send Dad a text so he’ll stop thinking about it, and Christopher can keep that off his to-do list.”

Mini shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

“I’ll have the key back to you by the end of the day.”

“There’s no rush. On a day like this, it feels like we’ll never see summer again.”

“No kidding.” Letting himself into the small supply room, he moved to the metal four-drawer filing cabinet and immediately spotted the two tabs marked Carter—one for his cottage and the other for his parents’—near the front of Mini’s efficiently alphabetized system. He grabbed the small plastic bag with the key for his parents’ property as he scanned the dozens of other files, but he didn’t see anything for the abandoned cottage. Bending closer, he shoved the thick stack forward as he located a tab with a red line drawn through Brewster’s Forest. He reached in for the bag as Mini poked her head in.

“Finding what you need?”

“Yup.” He snatched the plastic and held it up before he shoved it in his pocket and closed the drawer with a bump of his hip. “Everything’s always right where it should be.”

“It pays to be organized.”

“Yes, it does.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, honey.”

He zipped up and put his hat back on, then hurried outside, swearing under his breath as he got behind the wheel. That was something he hoped he wouldn’t have to do again. He always preferred honesty, but telling Mini that he suspected Samantha Fletcher had been a victim of foul play on a property her husband co-owned with his brothers wasn’t bound to go over very well. Instead, he buried his regrets as he turned over the ignition and headed toward the north side of the island—the most direct route to his remote destination.

Minutes later, he pulled up at the old logging trail a few of the locals occasionally used for cross-country skiing and grabbed the camera off the passenger seat, stuffing it into his pocket before he bundled up with a scarf and tugged his fingers into thick gloves as he started on his way. The thirty-degree temperatures weren’t exactly ideal for the couple-mile hike, but the weather wasn’t going to stop him from doing what needed to be done. He and Sanchez had an unexpected new angle to follow in the case—Evan’s friend’s kids who had been old enough to borrow a cabin in the woods for a weekend and completely trash the place. Nate was far from ready to dismiss the Carter Island connection—Samantha’s long-ago lover had to be from Sanderson—but this was certainly an interesting twist he hadn’t seen coming. For all they knew, Samantha had come to meet up with her boyfriend but fell into perilous circumstances that had nothing to do with him. They would have to see.

Nearly forty-five minutes later, Nate slowed his steady pace as he approached the old structure, studying the roofline and single broken window on the second story that looked so much like Callie’s stained glass. He walked to the old porch and climbed three weatherworn stairs, then shoved the key in the lock and opened the door. Before stepping inside, he pulled booties from his pocket and secured them over his boots, then traded his warm gloves for blue latex.

He moved farther inside and took two steps down into the living room area, where a pretty gray slate fireplace had sat unused for decades. His gaze tracked over a small table and chair set by one of the windows, water-damaged walls, and layers of dust covering old wooden floors. He made his way to the small kitchen and peered into the dozen cabinets and drawers above and below the sink, taking the time to run his fingers along the insides and tops of the shelves, checking for any sort of discarded weapon.

“Nothing,” he muttered as he started back toward the front of the house and up the stairs that led to the loft on the second floor. He gave each step a testing wiggle, found them sturdy, and stopped by the railing, glancing down at the living room below. He could just make out the slight discoloration in the wood where the sun had bleached the pine in the outline of a large rug. He turned, surprised by an old full-size bed still sitting in its place in the center of the small space when the majority of the cottage was empty. He scrutinized the old navy-blue quilt, then pulled it back, taking an automatic step in retreat as he winced. “Jesus,” he said with a shudder. Hundreds of bug carcasses lay on the yellowed sheets.

He put the cover back in place and walked to the window facing the back of the house, then to the railing again, and looked out at the view from the broken window. Trees and more trees. He crouched down to what he guesstimated to be a small child’s height and realized that there was barely anything to see from his spot. Clenching his jaw, he stared down at the living room once more, then headed downstairs and stopped in the tiny bathroom, inspecting the basin of the pedestal sink—pulling the stop from the drain and sweeping his fingers inside. Next he removed the lid off the back of the toilet, then crouched down again, scrutinizing the walls for any sort of old blood spatter before he gave the shower a once-over, checking the drain there as well. “Fuck,” he muttered. There certainly weren’t any obvious signs that suggested Samantha Fletcher had been in the cottage or that a crime had carelessly taken place.

With nothing new gained, he pocketed his trash and locked up, then circled the property, unable to shake the feeling that the cottage played a part in the whole. There were too many coincidences leading him right here. He glanced to his right, catching sight of one of the orange flags he’d stuck in the ground waving in the wind a couple hundred yards up the small incline. “What happened to you?” he whispered as he circled to the front of the house again and stared at the window that he believed a four-year-old Callie had seen on a long-ago July night.